


Scarlet

by Beth Harker (chiana606)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiana606/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mush contracts scarlet fever, but Blink is the one with all the problems.  Kloppman pov.  Epilogue added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

On Monday afternoon Kloppman cleaned out the mousetraps, wrote out a report of the lodging house's weekly spending, and quarantined Mush Meyers to the sick room just above the boys' dormitory. 

"It ain't like you to be lethargic," the old man said. He grabbed Mush by the collar just as he was starting to lean into Kid Blink, probably to ask him what _lethargic_ meant. 

"He ain't lethargic," Blink argued. "Just tired. Sales is down this week, Mr. K, with snow everywhere and no news worth talkin' about."

"Most interesting thing was an ad for a flower show that won't be here till April," Mush croaked out. 

"It gives people something to look forward to, but I guess when you'se rich and in a hurry a penny's too much to pay for the price of hope." 

Mush cringed as he nodded his agreement. The sheen of sweat across his brow was not lost on Kloppman, who shook his head at Blink, and barked an order for Mush to sit down on the stool behind the front desk. He felt the boy's forehead and looked in his mouth.

"Sore throat?" Kloppman asked. He snapped his finger in front of Mush's eyes, and grabbed him by the chin to stop him looking at Blink, who was making faces behind them. 

"Neck hurts," Mush admitted. "Sorry, Kid. Guess I slept on it funny, then got all hot and cold selling my papes." 

"Never mind," said Blink. "I'll keep you company upstairs." 

Kloppman sighed. He was getting too old for this, and the only thing more difficult than getting Mush and Blink to separate would be dealing with Blink when Mush wasn't around. That boy had come to him out of a world of trouble, and while he couldn't be blamed for dragging that trouble in with him, he'd almost gotten himself kicked out more times than Kloppman cared to admit. Kloppman clicked his tongue, and shook his head. Mush looked up at him with big eyes and a perplexed frown that stood out in contrast to Blink's sharp glare. It was clear which of the boys Kloppman would have to watch out for over the coming days. 

"Go find yourself some dinner," Kloppman told Blink. "Go outside. Take a walk... walk outside... as a matter of fact," Kloppman gave a short laugh as an idea struck him, "take a walk to the doctor's... bring him over." 

Blink had just taken a deep breath as if to launch into an argument, but at the suggestion that he might be of help to Mush, he shut his mouth, gave a brisk nod, and was out the door. Mush hadn't moved from his seat, but his eyes fell on the telephone sitting on the desk, and he made a sound between a laugh and a wheeze. He knew. Surprisingly perceptive for the likes of him. Maybe he didn't have rocks for brains after all. 

"Upstairs," Kloppman said, a little more gently than he might have had Blink still been around. He gestured to the staircase, and turned back to his accounts as soon as he saw Mush get up to go. He needed to see what was left in this year's medical budget. 

 

\---------- 

The doctor said just what Kloppman had suspected when he'd seen Mush's red tongue, and the little white spots at the back of it -- scarlet fever. Kloppman lost no time in making the boys scrub down the dormitory, and warning them what signs to look out for. Blink paid him back for this by pouring salt in his morning coffee when his back was turned, because _of course_ Mush getting sick was Kloppman's fault. What else would have caused it? 

After the boys left, Kloppman lost precious time staring at his cup. If he had any power, his lodgers would never get sick, because it was a always catastrophe, especially when they started spreading something contagious. There just wasn't much Kloppman could do. He was the only adult in these boys' lives, the lone person responsible for taking care of them, but his resources were limited.

Adults in Blink's life had had power over his sickness and health, so the rumors went. They'd been able to decide if he'd sleep inside or out, if he'd have food to eat, how many bruises he'd carry --Whether he'd go through life with one eye or two. Some of the stories were exaggerated. Probably. For what felt like the hundredth time, Kloppman chose not to document Blink's bad behavior. He poured his coffee down the sink, and carried some breakfast up to Mush. The stairs creaked as Kloppman climbed to the third floor, and Kloppman's poor old knees creaked with them. 

Mush was not in bed. He was standing right at the door, and the unexpected sight of his face, a breath away from Kloppman's own, almost sent Kloppman tumbling backwards down the stairs in surprise. 

"Hi Mr. K!" Mush ushered him in. His cheeks were flushed, the window and curtains open to let in the winter light, and the cold air with it. The bed was unmade, and the ragged books that Kloppman had long ago placed on a shelf for the distraction of sick newsboys had been rearranged to form a tower of sorts. Kloppman raised an eyebrow, but decided not to ask. He shuffled in, and put some oatmeal and water on a bedside table. 

Mush was eager to talk. "I was doing sit ups," he told Kloppman. His voice was raspier than the day before, but he swung his arms as he spoke, alight with energy. "I can do lots. They gave us fitness tests at the orphanage one time. Hey Mr. K, I think I'm doin' alright." 

"If I didn't know better I'd say you was healthier than me," Kloppman lied. The more he looked at Mush, the more nervous and uncomfortable the boy's constant motion seemed. 

"Don't be hard on yourself. I'm just younger, huh?" 

Kloppman put his hands on Mush's shoulders, and pushed him back till he was sitting on the bed. His brown eyes were fever-bright. "Just 'cause you can do sit ups don't mean you're doin' yourself any favors trying to do them here and now," Kloppman admonished.

"What else'm I gonna do?" 

"Sleep. You'll be back to getting up at four in the morning soon enough, boy." 

"The doctor lady said I'm in peak physical condition." 

"Except the scarlet fever."

"'Cept for the scarlet fever," Mush repeated softly. His eyes followed Kloppman as he went to shut the window. "Will it get better faster if I lie down for a while?" 

"It'll get worse if you don't." 

Mush swallowed, then rubbed his neck. Kloppman watched him until he lay down, boredom and dissatisfaction coloring his features. 

No matter. He'd get through the illness easily, as the doctor had predicted the day before. The woman hadn't thought it economical to prescribe medicine for it, and had joked about being jealous of Mush's hardiness and strength. The only thing Kloppman needed to worry about was keeping Mush's sickness contained. Most people had scarlet fever at some point in their life, and it had a way of spreading through the lodging house every few years. Kloppman had weathered at least seven outbreaks in his time at Duane Street, and only ever seen a handful of boys killed by it. 

\----------

Two days into Mush's illness, and still none of the other lodgers showed signs of being sick. Kloppman counted his blessings, and found each one of them matched by a curse in the form of Kid Blink. Blink got into a fist fight with Snoddy, and he set the curtains on fire by smoking. He came in from selling each day and slammed his lodging fee on the table so hard that it rattled, and though he put down enough for both himself and Mush, he did so with a sneer as if he expected Kloppman to throw Mush out the window to die if his board was not paid. 

Worst of all, Blink took to passing time with Jack, who was of a more excitable temperament than Mush, and was so provoked by Blink's companionship that he talked non-stop and participated in every sort of dangerous stunt imaginable. 

"Jack says you can only get scarlet fever once," Blink told Kloppman one day when he got back from selling. He counted out enough coins for himself and Mush, and handed them over to Kloppman amiably enough. 

"It's true," Jack said behind him. He was eating an apple, but he paused to give Kloppman a small handful of change.

"Well, I already had it three times," Blink announced. 

"He means once. When he was little. It was real bad though. So bad it felt like he got it three times."

"Three times! And I got the scarletest rash you ever saw. I was red from head to toe." 

"Like a boiled lobster." 

"Like a rose." Blink shot Jack a look. Jack shrugged. "What we'se getting at, is I think you oughta let me go check in on Mush." 

"We bought you some gingerbread to sweeten the deal." 

"No," Blink hissed. "It's for Mush." 

"I'll bring it to him," Kloppman promised wearily. 

"Don't worry about it," Jack said. "Put up your feet. Relax. A moment's rest will add years to your life! Blink's up to the task." 

Kloppman took off his glasses, so that he could rub the bridge of his nose. "Blink's one antic away from being kicked out on the street. In the winter!" 

It was amazing to see how quickly Blink's face could change from friendly to mad.

"I'd like to see you try it." Blink shook his gingerbread in Kloppman's direction, threw it at the wall, and then took off. Kloppman followed, but only far enough to see Blink throw open the door of the newsies' dormitory rather than the sick room, and hear the chorus of voices and questions that the other boys greeted him with. 

Jack lingered by the desk. "He's just worried," he said, blithely unaware of how standing up quickly hurt Kloppman's back every time. "But you can count on me. I have a handle on this." 

"If you mean you have a bet with Racetrack..." 

"We're on the same side in this, you and me. I bet on him getting in _legally_."

Kloppman turned from Jack, to the phone on his desk. One call, maybe two, and he could be rid of Blink, Race, Jack, and any other boy who made a nuisance out of himself. It wasn't a matter of trying, really, just saying a few words to children's aide about what an old man like him could and could not be expected to manage. He returned to his seat, and waved Jack off, who shrugged, adjusted his ridiculous cowboy hat, and disappeared up the stairs. Kloppman turned back to his records, marked all the boys' fees as paid, and didn't touch the phone. 

\-------------

Mush reported how many sit ups he did before breakfast each morning. He built things out of the books. His book bridge was surprisingly stable, much like Mush himself. Mush might not have been one of the brightest boys to ever pass through the lodging house doors, and he might not have had much in the way prospects, but he was easy. He took care of himself, and didn't make trouble. You didn't have to think about him. 

A lot of people recovered from scarlet fever in the course of five days. On Mush's fifth day, Kloppman came into the room expecting to invent some chores to pass Mush's time, and saw instead that the boy was curled up in bed with his face pressed into the pillow. The blanket and Mush's shirt were pushed to the floor, and the books were all over the place, as if they'd been knocked over. The fever's characteristic rash had had plenty of time to grow by now, and though Kloppman had remarked the day before that it seemed to be fading, today it crawled angrily up Mush's neck and torso. His face was beet red, except for a deathly pale patch around his mouth. Kloppman asked him about his sit ups, and he shook his head without raising it to look at him. 

This was what scarlet fever was meant to look like, but Kloppman found that he had to firmly remind himself of this, because it was not what Mush was meant to look like. When Kloppman took his temperature, it was 102 degrees. Kloppman had seen the fever climb as high as 104 and 105 in other boys, and those were the ones who either died or came out of it so damaged that something else was bound to take them soon after. 103 was when Kloppman usually started to worry, and 103.5 was when he gave up. 

After some deliberation over whether or not Mush warranted lugging a bucket of water up from the pump in the dormitories, Kloppman decided it was time to give it a try, and trudged down the steps to get what he needed. 

"Sit up and look at me," Kloppman ordered. "Come on, I know you ain't gone deaf." 

After a moment Mush did, reluctantly. He covered his mouth, and Kloppman waited. Most likely Mush's illness had made his belly go sour on top of everything else, but he controlled it alright, moving his hand away after swallowing down a momentary spasm. 

Kloppman handed Mush a rag, and pointed to the bucket of water. "If you feel bad, then you put this in the water, lay it on your forehead or neck, then go to sleep," Kloppman told him. Mush just stared down at the rag. "Go on." 

As Kloppman watched Mush turn the rag over in his hands, he tried to gauge the boy's age. He'd been nine or ten when he first came to the lodging house. Only five years had passed since then, but the way Mush had grown, he looked to be seventeen at least. He'd be too big for the paper business soon enough, if he made it through this, and he'd have to go out on his own. It was best for him to take care of himself as much as he could, because life was hard, and that was all he had to look forward to. 

Kloppman waited.

Just when Kloppman was about ready to accept that Mush would need close looking after, Mush reached down to dip his rag into the water, and though he missed the bucket the first time, on the second try he managed to do as he was told. 

"There," Kloppman said, as Mush lay himself down. "That's a good boy." Against his better judgement, he picked the blanket off the floor, and handed it over to Mush, stopping just short of tucking him in. "Drink as much water as you can, and eat some, 'else you'll have cause to regret it. Don't throw up in the bed. You're too old for that, and it ain't my job to clean up after you if you do." 

Mush nodded. Kloppman didn't rise right away. Mush closed his eyes, but opened them again in a few minutes. He turned over, and lost the rag that he'd only just put on his forehead. Kloppman got up to go, ignoring the distinct feeling that he shouldn't. He'd come back soon enough, check on Mush's fever, but long years of experience had taught Kloppman that there was no sense in coddling orphans. It did more harm than good in the long run. 

\------------

The fever went up to 102.3, and Mush didn't touch his lunch. Kloppman discovered this when he went upstairs to bring Mush some dinner, and saw that he was rocking himself quietly in the bed.   
The other boys were still healthy. Little Tumbler complained of his mouth hurting the next day, and gave everybody a scare, but it turned out to be a bad tooth. Skittery offered to take the child to the dentist to have it pulled, and Kloppman gave over the ten cents he'd need to do it, little expecting the blow out argument that would arise, as several of the other boys tried to convince Skittery to give them the ten cents and let them pull the tooth, and Skittery insisted (with fists as much as words) that he'd be taking Tumbler to see a professional come hell or high water. 

In the end, Tumbler wasn't the only one to lose a tooth that day. Kloppman grumbled to himself as he found the gauze that Blink would need for his mouth, if he didn't want to bleed everywhere. To hear him tell it, he hadn't known anything about the money, or Tumbler's problems. Tackling Pie Eater had just seemed like the right thing to do. 

"He hadn't done nothin', yet, but he had an angry look in his eye, like he was gonna jump into the fight any second," Blink tried to explain, through all the paper wadded up in his mouth.

"Good of you to apologize," was Kloppman's answer. 

"I ain't apologized for nothin'." 

"Muffins for supper? No, I don't think so." Kloppman had understood Blink clearly enough, but there was no sense letting him know that.

"When's Mush coming back down?" Blink asked. 

"When he's good and ready." 

"Yeah? Well he don't wanna be up there. He don't like being alone." 

"He don't like fist fights and people talking with their mouths full of blood either. You know who else don't? Children's Aide. Think about that." 

It was a while before Blink stopped following Kloppman around, but one of the benefits of being old was that one could become hard of hearing whenever they pleased. That was lucky for Blink, because if Kloppman's ears had been in proper working order, he would have heard the string of expletives that Blink regaled him with before storming off, and then Blink would be stuck finding a new place to live. 

\--------- 

 

It was no great surprise when Mush's fever hit 103.4 during the night. He was seeing things - an unlikely mix of dinosaurs and angels apparently. Kloppman called the doctor, but she had a string of other patients to see, and wouldn't be able to come that day. 

"I ought to have time to stop in at eight tomorrow morning," the doctor promised, but when eight o'clock came, the doctor received a call from a frantic mother, and needed to reschedule to twelve. At twelve, the doctor actually made it to the lodging house door, before being dragged away by a concerned father whose little girl had sneezed four times that morning. 

The message was clear - Mush didn't have anybody, and wasn't important to anybody. It was an unfair truth that Kloppman had come to terms with long ago. He did his best for his boys, but there were millions like them in the world. They were children, and they were dust. Some of them would grow up and become productive members of society, but no one much cared if a few didn't get there, and those were the hard facts of the matter. 

Blink got into Mush's room sometime before nightfall. Kloppman opened the door quietly, and Blink was sat on the bed, with Mush's head in his lap, and his hand in Mush's hair. There were five empty beds in the room, intended for other patients, and Blink had stripped them of pillows and blankets, piling them on top of and around his friend. 

Kloppman couldn't even feel angry. As for his dread, he swallowed it down. These things happened. _They happened._

Blink looked up to see Kloppman. His hand stilled. He tensed. "Dutchy heard you on the phone with the doctor," Blink said. "Specs saw her leave. She's lucky I didn't see her walk away. I would've rung her neck." 

"You've had this before, have you?" 

Blink's mouth hung open. He looked very young. He cleared his throat. "Got lotsa big spots on me once when I was little. His is smaller." 

"Stay up here, whatever else you do. Don't go downstairs with the others." 

"Wasn't planning on it." 

Kloppman nodded. He stepped forward experimentally. Blink still looked like he might spring at him. "You want to keep Mush cool, not warm. All those blankets? No good. There's a bucket of water down there." 

"Alright," Blink murmured. He pushed the blankets away, smoothed back Mush's hair gently, and went in for the cloth. There was a softness to Blink's movements that made Kloppman wince, though he could not say why. Mush was completely still, and Kloppman realized that he had not seen him that way since he'd fallen ill. Blink looked at his cloth for a long moment, then started to rub Mush's shoulder with it. 

"You just left him up here," Blink's voice cracked, just the slightest bit. There were four untouched glasses of water on the bedside table alongside a bowl of cold oatmeal, testaments that Kloppman had _not_ simply left Mush to fend for himself, but maybe Blink couldn't be blamed for not seeing that. 

There was no sense in telling Blink that It was better for Mush to be up in this room than out where he could make others sick, and no sense in telling Blink that it had been stupid of him to come up here and put himself in danger. Instead, Kloppman sat down next to Blink, and started to explain every little thing that might be of help to Mush, all the tricks and remedies that did not guarantee recovery, but that could be expected to be tried upon a boy with someone who cared about him.


	2. Optional Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I consider the previous chapter to be a full story on its own, and I purposely gave it an ambiguous ending. However, somebody on Tumblr asked me to write a continuation where Mush gets better. I don't consider this to be the actual ending to the story, just a bit of fun writing to explore one possible outcome. I also didn't quite put the time into this that I did the first part, but it was a way to explore some ideas I have about Mush's personality and past, so there's that. If you were hoping for a happy ending, here you go. :)

\------------

Mush lay very still. Something had changed, but he didn't know what. Everything had been so blurred together lately that he couldn't make sense of it. Time had become nothing, just a procession of strange dreams and small physical failings that had piled one on top of another until he was too sick to be embarrassed or care. His eyes were closed now, but he could see light behind his lids. The air was warm, thick with the scent of soap and the scent of something else that was still unwashed; A slight sourness permeated it all. Somebody probably needed to get up and open the window. Mush couldn't. Maybe he'd sleep again soon. 

There was a layer of slime at the back of Mush's throat, and swallowing did nothing to make it go away. It was only by attempting to swallow it back a few times that Mush realized the action didn't hurt. His breath, too, was coming easy and natural, a rhythmic and weightless in and out and in and out. He shifted experimentally, and wasn't overcome by nausea. The absence of pain was so intoxicating that he sighed. 

"Hey. You awake now?" 

It was temping not to be, but if anything could draw Mush back into the world it was the sound of Blink's voice. He nodded, and his eyes fluttered open. He started to sit up, but Blink stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Blink's other hand went to his forehead, and then up through his hair, smoothing it back with his palm. 

"How're you feeling?" 

Mush shut his eyes again. He licked his lip. Blink had shifted onto the bed, and Mush nestled in closer to him, still searching for a word to describe where he was at that moment. He felt... He guessed he felt heavy all over, and damp, and soft around the edges. 

"I'm alright," Mush said. His voice came out in a dry croak. 

"See? I knew you'd be. If the mayor's kid ain't gonna die at sixteen from scarlet fever, then you sure as hell ain't gonna either." 

"Who said anything about dyin'?" 

"Nobody with half a brain. Last night, before your fever broke--" there was a crack in Blink's voice. "Not to scare you, but you wasn't looking so good." 

It was a lot to take in, especially with Blink so close, and rubbing circles into Mush's back while he spoke. It made Mush think of Mouser, the lodging house cat, and how he'd let you pet him for hours if he was in the right mood. Kloppman didn't like it when you did that. He said that cats, like boys, were better if you let them work for their keep and didn't coddle them. Mush wasn't so sure. What Blink was doing for him now felt really good, not like anything anybody had done for him before. 

That was why, when Blink stopped, Mush reached out for his wrist and kissed it, the strangeness of the gesture only flooding in after it was too late. Blink was his best friend, and even though they'd wrestled and hugged plenty of times, that didn't mean that Mush got to go around kissing him. 

For all that Blink had said that he wasn't going to die, Mush could almost believe that he would, right then and there. Blink let out a breathy laugh, or maybe it was a scoff. After a pause that felt like forever, he brushed Mush's hair out of the way, and kissed his temple. A second fell, closer to Mush's forehead this time. By the third kiss Mush was sure he hadn't made a mistake. Maybe he'd even cleared open the way for something he hadn't known he'd needed.

**Author's Note:**

> For a complete list of my newsies fics, go here: http://david-jacobs-would.tumblr.com/post/125939888514/masterlist-of-newsies-fan-fiction-by


End file.
